


Truth in Your Eyes

by thedeafwriter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Deaf Sherlock, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Prompt Fill, Sherlock is adorable, Sign Language, Wedding, case based wedding, hard of hearing john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5283245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeafwriter/pseuds/thedeafwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: WEDDING/HONEYMOON!<br/>I ran away with the wedding and left the honeymoon so, so alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth in Your Eyes

There had been nothing to distract him from John’s hands as they slowly, carefully, purposefully moved themselves around the forms of words to create a simple sentence. It was Angelo who had given them the seats that they sat in when they first went to his place on the day they first met, on the case, A Study in Pink, which had long faded in details other than what had been written in the overly romantic prose of John Watson.

Sherlock sat with his back to the window – _No deducing strangers_ – and the other tables were empty. It was just them. So when John’s hands started to move, there was nothing else for Sherlock to see but the man who had once killed to protect him.

“Will you marry me?”

\--

Of course it was going to be Sherlock who planned the wedding from top to bottom, omitting John’s opinion about anything other than his preferred tie colour – though Sherlock didn’t allow him to answer, overriding John with small movements that said _black. Of course it has to be black_ – but that was perfect between them. John doesn’t know much about weddings anyway, having been to very few, most of those he had long since forgotten.

So it was a complete surprise, on the day.

Sherlock had requested that John have his bachelor party with Greg – _It’s Graham, John_ – and Mike whilst Sherlock made sure that everything was perfect for the day after. Or so John had been told.

Waking up in Greg’s bed, his head thundering from the hangover – Greg had shaken his head and snorted, _We were only out for 3 hours. I thought you could hold it better_ – which John quickly soothed with a painkiller and downing several cups of black coffee. Once John could walk in a straight line and recite the alphabet backwards – _Thanks Greg, I don’t think that was necessary_ – he was handed his suit. It fitperfectly, of course, and made him look… John. There was a hidden pocket and everything was lined enough that he could hide his Browning inside.

 _Of course_.

With a roll of his eyes and a chuckle, John placed it inside his jacket. There was a knock on the door which opened to reveal Mike grinning ear to ear. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be getting married now, would you?” He quite fancied himself as a matchmaker, even though John and Sherlock was his first and last successful match. Even on his wedding day, John couldn’t help but think, _If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have met Sherlock. If I hadn’t met Sherlock, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be dead_.

“Cabbie’s here.” The cabbie was dressed in a familiar way, in a both unfortunate and fond way. A theme was occurring and John couldn’t bring himself to even protest. Of course Sherlock would do it this way. The day they fell in love but were too cowardly to admit it.

\--

_This is John Watson._

The exchange had gone too quickly for John’s eyes to follow, but it was something he easily recognised.

“Deaf?” John looked at Mike questioningly, which earned him a scoff from the stranger in question and a flurry of hands pointed at John. John had learnt only it himself a few short years ago – a kind woman had volunteered to teach him since anybody injured in the war could become temporarily or permanently deafened, even John himself. He wasn’t fluent, but good enough. And what this stranger was saying were words. And he didn’t think anybody would be able to pull it out of thin air. Later, Sherlock told him, it was deductions based on observations.

_Army doctor, obviously, was based in either in Afghanistan or Iraq, just released because of permanent complete loss in the right ear. Shot once which has created a psychosomatic limp, since it’s bad when you walk but you don’t ask for a chair, like you’ve forgotten about it. I am just as human as you are, John. Do ask me the questions, not this idiot._

Of course, that night had ended with John killing a man. To this day, he kept the written notes between serial killer and Sherlock.

\--

John stepped into the taxi, Greg and Mike beside him and at ease. John’s leg began to bounce on the spot and his fingers combed through his hair every few seconds. He, John Watson, soon to be a Watson-Holmes, army soldier, adrenaline addict, lover to Sherlock Holmes was… nervous.

After all, marriage was always John’s thing. It was hinted at times, outright said at one time, that Sherlock doesn’t do marriages. So why did Sherlock say yes? Was it simply to please John, to assure him that Sherlock would never leave? He would never leave like he did in the Fall. They both repressed that memory, Sherlock because he would never have slept again and John because discovering that Sherlock was alive whilst rotting away on a hospital bed, nothing more than a skeleton, was something that would eat away at him for all eternity. As it was, the guilt was always there. Seeing the pain shining in the detective’s eyes was something that drove John to making sure he ate until he was full and not a bite before. Sherlock would notice otherwise.

He did once. Sherlock noticed John’s hands tremble when he hadn’t eaten enough. John didn’t even think it was visible, but to the detective’s eyes, they were like seismic tremors deep under the earth. Turns out, the eyes of those who had hearing loss of some kind quickly adapted to it. Sherlock could see in more detail, see more shades of colour – not that much more, but enough to make a difference – and the slightest of movement that others wouldn’t have seen.

But why did he say yes?

“Does it matter? He did.” The words came from Greg who was sat with his arms folded, watching John with a critical but kind eye. “You’re too easy to read sometimes, mate. Just sit back, relax. You know, while you still can.” That earned a chuckle from everybody and the rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence.

\--

It was the red which caught John’s attention when they got closer. Red tulips decorated the mock crime scene like blood – the vicar wore a police hat and visibility jacket, but at least there were no real bodies around. It was because of that small mercy that John smiled. He hoped the criminal class took today off, or his honeymoon would be a case. There were worse things to be doing, like being around Sherlock whilst he was bored.

\--

 _No. Your fingers are too stiff on this word. It needs to be more relaxed like this. No, like this. John, no._ Frustration built up on both of their faces as John stumbled over one of Sherlock’s custom made words. Bored Sherlock liked to try and make things easier between them by creating ridiculous hand shapes that had a meaning. Like the smooth ‘v’ to ‘c’ that was short and held to the chest, named ‘Vatican Cameos’. It stood for both ‘act quickly’ and ‘there is danger around’. It took a while, but John just had to look at Sherlock’s face to see which one he was trying to say.

“I can’t do it” John said out loud, knowing that Sherlock was watching his face and not his hands. “My fingers are too short to do it.”

 _De_ -bloody- _duction_. There’s no sign for it, but eventually John warped the word enough to become acceptable. Mostly though, he would only ever read it unless translating for someone at the Yard.

\--

John stepped out the taxi and smoothed out the wrinkles in his suit, surveying the scene. Molly was sat behind Sherlock’s parents. Harry couldn’t come; a therapy session with her AA had been early in the morning and she was always in a bad mood afterwards. John’s parents weren’t there either. Of course not, his father died, a soldier, when John was still a young, and his mother had left her mind through stress and time after he had left for university. With Mike as best man, it was Greg who sat on the front row, with Molly and Mrs Hudson – both of whom were in tears already.

At the vicar’s feet John could see his spot marked by a red cross made from tape. Well, Sherlock _had_ prepared for everything. Taking his place, John closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

Upon opening them, John could only see Sherlock’s radiant smile - his silent walk had not given away his position whilst John was behind his eyelids – Sherlock’s suit identical to his own and not a mark out of place.

“We are gathered here today to…”

\--

Hand lightly tracing his lover’s chest, John looked up at the slightly grey ceiling above their room. Sleeping together at 221B Baker Street was enough of a honeymoon. A surprise case had come up the day after the wedding and Sherlock had barely paused to put on some decent clothes before storming to the scene, dragging John in tow.

But now Sherlock was sleeping in an almost foetal position, his head on John and his legs wrapped around the bottom of the blanket. As John lay there ~~~~wide awake he couldn’t help but think of the future, of tapping little feet running to their room on Christmas morning and the hurried changing to drop someone off to school, of another voice joining their own and making memories that would stay with them both.

_John, you’re thinking too loudly. And I agree. I have already contacted Mycroft and he will let me know of the best and worse care homes around. But only one._

They ended up getting two. A boy named Hamish – _We have to John, he’s perfect_ – who was mute, and girl named Willow who had a recent diagnosis of autism.

 _We are_ … Sherlock’s hands fell to the side and John looked into the galaxy pools that were Sherlock’s ever changing eyes. What he was not expecting to happen happened. “Family.” The deep baritone voice resonated within John and he lifted his own hands, making the sign himself.

 _Family_.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is beta'd by - http://fortunatelykeendetective.tumblr.com/


End file.
